“No, sir, of course not; but you’re always at the mercy of the plumbers; and if these men don’t always leave their work so that it’ll make another job before long, I’m not a Christian woman.”
“Oh, you object to it because it’s new-fashioned,” said Stratton merrily.
“Which, begging your pardon, I don’t, sir. What I do object to is your taking up a beautiful closet to make into a bath room; and out of your sitting room, and none too much cupboard room before. If it had been a cupboard in your bedroom I shouldn’t have said a word.”
“But there was no cupboard there, Mrs Brade, and that closet fitted exactly, so say no more about it.”
“Certainly not, sir, if you don’t wish it; and only too glad am I to have got rid of the workmen; though as I lay in bed last night I said to my husband, ‘Mark my word, John, if Mr Brettison don’t go having a bath made in his room, for there’s the fellow-closet as matches Mr Stratton’s exactly.’”
“To be sure, I never thought of that,” said Stratton merrily. “I’ll give him a hint.”
“Mr Stratton, sir, if you’ve any respect for me and my rheumatism, don’t. The place smells horrid as it is of paint, and French polish, and plumbers, without counting the mess they made, and if you’ll be guided by me you’ll buy a sixpenny box of pastilles and let me burn one every day till the smell of workmen’s gone.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the smell, Mrs Brade. By George, yes, Mr Brettison ought to have a bath put in his.”
“Mr Stratton, sir, don’t, please. He’s sure to if you say a word; and if the workmen come again we shall be having the whole place tumbling about our ears.”
“I hope not. Oh, the old place is strong enough.”